Colin kissed Luna until he realized he’d slid the strap of her sundress over her shoulder. Quickly releasing her, he repositioned the strap. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Between you and the smell of old books, I lose all sense of propriety.”

She swayed a little, and her eyes were dark and slightly unfocused. She licked her lips. “Me, too.”

“On top of that, I’ve smeared your lipstick.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief. “Here.”

She waved it away. “If I get dark pink lipstick on that white handkerchief, it will never come out.”

“Then I’ll keep it as a souvenir.” He cupped the back of her head. “Here, I’ll do it. Hold still.” He carefully wiped her mouth. “You’ll have to start over, I’m afraid.”

Gradually her dazed expression was replaced with a mischievous smile. “I’m not the only one wearing raspberry lipstick.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t thought of that, but then, he wasn’t in the habit of kissing females in the middle of bookstores, or in any public place, for that matter. He’d never been overcome by the need to kiss someone immediately until he’d met Luna.

“Allow me.” Taking the handkerchief from him, she reached up and dabbed at his mouth. “Y’all have such a sensuous lower lip.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the chaps.”

“I’ve never said it to anyone before.”

“I know. I was teasing you again, and I shouldn’t do that.” He caught her hand in both of his and kissed her fingertips. “Knowing I’m your first lover is an endless source of pride and joy to me. You’ve given me a priceless gift, Luna.”

“No less than you gave to me. I feel as if I’m…how would I describe it? Something was missing in my life, and I knew that, but I didn’t understand how different I would feel now that I’m…” She blew out a breath. “Like I said, I’m not sure how to describe it.”

He kept holding her hand because he couldn’t seem to stop touching her. “Complete?”

She nodded. “Yes, complete. I feel complete, now, as if I know what the world is about. I’m so grateful, Colin.”

He was mesmerized by the warmth in her eyes. “Maybe we should skip buying the books and check into the hotel. We can order books online.”

She smiled. “That’s no fun.”

“But we could have a whole lot of fun in that hotel room. I like books, but not enough to give up a chance to—”

She laid a finger over his mouth. “We’re here, now. We might as well pick up some books.” Removing her finger, she chucked him under the chin. “We don’t have to stay long, but we should do it.”

“And then we can go back to the hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” He picked up his shopping bag and looped the handles over his forearm. “This will take me about five minutes. I’ll take this one, and this one, and—”

“Colin! You’re not even looking at them! What on earth have you got there?”

“I don’t know. I liked the red leather cover.” He glanced at the spine of the book in his hand. “The Mating Habits of Crustaceans.”

“We don’t need that book. Or—” She peered at the spines of his other choices. “Fun with Chemistry or The Secret Life of Snails. Put them back.”

“I don’t know. That last one sounds kind of sexy. Maybe they dress up in black lingerie.”

“Now you’re being silly.” She glanced around. “No wonder! We’re standing smack in the middle of the science section. Let’s move to the fiction aisle.”

“Wait.” He spied a book on a top shelf and pulled it down. “I’ve never been able to find this one. I even did a rare book search with no luck. And here it is.” He held the book up so she could see.

Her expression softened. “I didn’t think about you finding astronomy books here.”

Colin looked at his treasure. “Lowell’s theories on Mars have been disproven, but I wanted to have this, anyway.” He glanced at the price written on the inside cover. “As I thought, they don’t know how much this book is worth. It should go for several hundred dollars.”

“So y’all found a bargain!”

He laughed. “Every Scotsman’s dream. Okay, now we can go to the fiction section. I’ve found my treasure.” Those words taunted him as he followed Luna over to the well-populated fiction aisle.

He’d found his treasure, all right, and it wasn’t this book. He could take that home and place it on a shelf in the library at Glenbarra. But the real treasure, the lover he’d waited a lifetime to find, would not be coming home with him.

He wouldn’t let thoughts like that ruin his time with her, though. He wasn’t about to be—what name had she used? Oh, yes. Debbie Downer. He refused to be her twin brother Donny Downer. So he’d enjoy the devil out of watching Luna choose her books.

She chortled with glee each time she found one for the growing collection in his arms. “You should choose some,” she said after she’d stacked up enough hardbacks to reach almost to his chin. “I can hold those.”

Considering the weight, he doubted it, but it was sweet of her to offer. “You go ahead and pick them out. I’ll be the muscle of the operation.”

“Are they getting too heavy?”

He wouldn’t admit it if they were. “I’m fine, but I suppose we have to consider the weight limit of the helicopter.” He had no idea what that was, but he was ready to finish up here and whisk her away to their hotel.

“All right.” She held up a tattered paperback copy of Lady Chatterly. “This will be the last one.”

He smiled at her choice. “I should have known you’d track that down, although it doesn’t look to be in very good shape.”

“Oh, it’s not.” She leaned close. “It’s already falling apart.”

“Really?”

“It’s marked way down because the glue isn’t holding. A few good shakes and pages would go everywhere.” She winked at him.

“I see. Then maybe we need to get it back to the hotel room before something happens.”

“Good plan. Let’s check out.” She walked ahead of him with a decided sway to her hips.

He couldn’t remember her walking like that before. Unless he was mistaken, his former virgin was turning into a vixen. And he was all for it.

Setting the books on the counter, he handed her his shopping bag from their clothes expedition, took out his wallet and extracted several bills. “This should cover the books. I’ll be right back.”

She looked surprised, but he dashed out of the bookstore before she could ask any questions. He’d noticed the way she’d gazed longingly at the flower stalls, and this was the kind of day that called for a romantic gesture.

When he returned, he found her standing just inside the door of the bookstore, a sturdy double bag of books and the two shopping bags at her feet. When she saw the bouquet in his hand, her eyes widened and she covered her mouth.

He held out the flowers. “For you, m’lady.”

She took the bouquet hesitantly, glancing from the multi-colored gerbera daisies to his face. Then she looked at the flowers again, almost as if she couldn’t quite believe he’d done such a thing. He’d hoped she might smile.

Instead, tears welled in her eyes.

He panicked. “You don’t like them? Are they the wrong kind? Tell me what you like, and I’ll get those, instead. I just wanted to—”

“I love them.” She launched herself into his arms, grabbed him around the neck and kissed him, even as tears dribbled down her cheeks and flavored the kiss with salt.

Cupping her face in both hands he brushed at the tears with his thumbs. He still wasn’t sure if he’d done something good or something bad by giving her the flowers, but her kiss seemed to be saying he’d done something good.

Finally she drew back. “No one’s ever given me flowers before.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “We’ve had bouquets of flowers from the garden all around Whittier House, but that’s not the same as having someone buy them just for m-me. I’m a—” She paused to sniff. “A flower virgin, too.”

“I thought maybe I’d made a mistake.”

She shook her head violently. “It was wonderful of y’all to surprise me with these. They’re such happy flowers, and all different colors. We need to hurry to the hotel so we can put them in some water. What about a vase? We don’t want them to die, and I’m not sure a water glass will work.”

“We’ll ask room service to send something up.” He looked into her eyes, needing reassurance that she really was happy about his attempt to be romantic.

“Honestly, Colin, I love them.”

He took a shaky breath. “All right. You had me worried there, but if you say so, then…all right.” He leaned down and picked up the weighty sack of books and both shopping bags. “Let’s get a cab.”

All the way to the hotel, Luna kept looking at her flowers. She really did love them, and they were so much more imaginative than roses. Every time she thought of Colin rushing out to buy flowers for her, she choked up.

But that wasn’t the only reason. When he’d presented them, he’d said m’lady. If he hadn’t recently told her what his mate would be called, she wouldn’t have thought anything about it. But he had just told her, and yet she imagined his choice of words had been unconscious. He couldn’t know that being addressed like that taunted her with what she’d never have.

Consequently, she’d become a blubbering idiot, for which she was embarrassed. She wasn’t a crier, had never been one, so far as she could remember. She’d shed tears over Geraldine, and that was to be expected. But she wasn’t the type to tear up over a bouquet of flowers and a misplaced endearment.

She couldn’t blame it on stress, because she’d had far more stress than this in her twenty-seven years of life. So she’d blame it on lack of sleep. One thing she wouldn’t blame it on—falling in love with Colin MacDowell. That would be the stupidest thing she could possibly do.

“Did you still want to see the picture of your grandparents’ house?”

She’d forgotten all about it. Sharing a kiss with Colin in a deserted aisle of a bookstore could do that to her. Being alone with him in a hotel room would likely have the same effect. “I’d like to see it,” she said.

Taking out his phone, he pushed a few buttons and handed it to her. “There it is.”

“Wow.” The stately two-story was white with hunter-green shutters. “It looks like a mansion.”

“They’ve done well, but they’re turning the whole thing into offices for the foundation and temporary housing for homeless Weres, so they won’t be living there much longer. That was all on the foundation website.”

“Any pictures of them?”

“There might have been a couple of small ones, but I don’t know how well they’ll show up on a tiny screen. Want me to try?”

“Sure.” She gave him the phone, although it might not matter whether she could see the pictures or not. She’d nearly made up her mind to meet them tomorrow, so she’d get an up close and personal view then.

“This is the best I can do. I’ve magnified it as much as I can.” He passed over the phone again.

Luna already knew from pictures of her mother that she looked almost exactly like Sophie, so she didn’t expect to see much family resemblance in the two seventy-something people gazing back at her from the small image in the phone. Instead she felt the shock of instant recognition.

Edwina’s chin was like hers, rounded and yet firm and strong-looking. As for Jacques, his ears were small and close to his head, exactly like Luna’s. Sophie’s had stuck out a little bit, which was why she’d always worn her hair long.

The light on the screen faded, and Luna punched a button to bring it back. She couldn’t stop looking at those two people. Their blood ran in her veins.

“Can you see it well enough?” Colin leaned closer and started to take the phone. “Maybe I can—”

She maintained her grip on the phone. “I can see it fine.” The picture was a posed studio shot, and so she couldn’t get a real sense of what they were like because they seemed a little stiff. But they were both smiling, and they had wonderful smiles, although that part wasn’t familiar. Luna’s smile was pure Sophie.

Edwina’s hair was a combination of blonde and silver that looked natural. Jacques had a receding hairline, and what was left of his hair was quite gray. He had the kindest eyes and a bushy mustache.

“I think I would like them,” she said softly.

“Everything about them seems positive.”

“I know.” She finally lifted her gaze from the screen. “But I can’t forget that their son died because of my mother’s behavior.”

“More than twenty-seven years ago,” Colin said. “They’ve had twenty-seven years to come to grips with what happened and learn to forgive.”

“Or twenty-seven years to grow more bitter about losing their only child.”

Colin sighed. “I won’t tell you that’s impossible, but if they were bitter, why would they start this foundation? I think there’s a better chance that they would embrace you as their granddaughter.”

“I want to see them, but I want to go with a cover story. Will you help me with that?”

“I’ll do whatever you need.”

That was all she had to hear. “What if we call on them to suggest using the opening weekend of Whittier House as a benefit for their foundation?”

Colin stared at her. “That’s bloody brilliant, lass!”

“It is? Don’t forget it will reduce our profit that weekend.”

“I may be a Scot but I’m not stupid. Tying in with a charitable cause will mean cross-promotion, both for them and for us. Guests are able to say they were at the opening of Whittier House Inn, and they contributed to the Byron Reynaud Foundation at the same time.”

“I mostly wanted an excuse to see them other than announcing I’m their long-lost granddaughter.”

He frowned, clearly disappointed. “So you’re not going to tell them that?”

“Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

“But…what about your name?”

She’d been wrestling with that problem, the only real glitch in her scheme. “We may be able to gloss over that. For one thing, I’ve always thought the MacDowell name should be on all the literature about the inn. Your title will impress everyone.”

“But won’t they expect me to be around all the time if my name’s on the brochure?”

“I’ll say you jet back and forth between your two homes. That will sound worldly and extravagant. We’ll put a welcome letter from you in each room, and, I know! We’ll put a portrait of you, wearing a kilt and whatever else goes with that, in some prominent place.”

Colin groaned. “I really hate that plan.”

“Do you have a kilt?”

“Not with me.”

“But you do have one. And that other thing, the pouch deal.”

“A sporran. Aye, I have that, and the proper cap, the whole outfit.”

She grinned at him. “When you talk about it, your brogue gets stronger. Maybe in addition to the portrait, we should have a video of—”

“No, by God. I’ll not be making a video as the Laird of Glenbarra, strutting around in his plaid.”

“Aw, Colin. It would be so great. We could have it on a continuous loop in the library!”

“You’re having me on, aren’t you?”

She reached over and stroked his cheek. “A little. Y’all were so horrified at the idea of a video. But I really want to play up the laird angle and minimize my role. I’m just Luna Thisbe, the one who runs the office.”

“Who?”

“Thisbe is my middle name. My mother got it from a story about two ill-fated lovers.”

“I know the story.”

“I’ve always hated that middle name. As if Luna isn’t unusual enough, she saddled me with Thisbe, too. But it works as a last name if I want to cloak myself for now. I can even tell the staff I’m dropping Reynaud so people don’t get confused and think I’m part of the foundation.”

Colin gave her a wry smile. “It would be so much simpler if you just told them.”

“Too risky. I realize eventually the word may get out and I’ll have to deal with that, but if we have Whittier House off and running by then, it may not matter who I am, especially if you’re the visible part of the operation.”

“You do know I won’t be particularly visible at all, don’t you?”

“I know.” He wasn’t even gone yet and she was already imagining how desperately she’d miss him. Enough. She’d already had one bout of tears today, and that was one too many. “But you could be, if you’d make that video!”